At first glance, kings seem enviable, but Davies turns that idea upside down. The speaker feels pity for them, not admiration. From every direction—North, South, East, West—people press them with demands: open a new dock, a building, a bazaar, a fair. They get no gentle rest. Worse, they are never free; they are followed, watched, and spied on wherever they go. Their power comes with constant public exposure and obligation.
By contrast, the speaker enjoys simple liberty, wandering alone in green lanes and hearing birds sing. That quiet, anonymous freedom makes royal life seem wretched. The mood is gently ironic and reflective rather than angry, suggesting that wealth and status can be a kind of prison—and that an ordinary person with time to muse in nature may be far luckier than a king.